Stayed up all night with UB the night he was here – the night I started thinking and feeling again for the first time. We were still awake when the birds began twittering and the candle gave up the ghost. He said some strange things then, a lot of which are still ricocheting around my brain like bee-bees in a rubber room.
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He said he was proud of me, the way I was taking it and all, and that he empathised.
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He said he was proud of me, the way I was taking it and all, and that he empathised.
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‘I’m so very sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I can’t even begin to imagine what you must be going through.’
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‘Don’t worry,’ I told him, ‘I can’t imagine what I’m going through either.’
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‘You are stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place, Leo,’ he levelled with me. ‘Sure, it’s difficult to look at head on. But the way you choose to look at it determines the way you deal with it, or fail to deal with it. Some facts are cold, hard pills to swallow, but they must be considered. On the one hand, a tragic accident has taken place: on the other, you’re left to deal with it, to reconcile it, and try to get on with your life. And you wrestle to attach some sense, some meaning to what seems like madness. You struggle to absorb the blow.’
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‘That’s it,’ I agreed, ‘but what can you do? It’s so hard to…’ My chin jiggled uncontrollably as I fought to withhold a bucketful of tears. And it wasn’t long before my head’s nestled between UB’s broad arm and chest. His other arm encircled me then, hugging me close and tight. I imagined he was Santa Claus - pretending that if I told him what I wanted he’d grant my wish.
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I cried long and hard cradled in the safety of his sturdy frame. Still and quiet, save for the soft rocking motion he made as he hummed a little tune. Row Row Row Your Boat. Then, in a soft whisper, he sings the words.
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